


Smooth ride

by Beginte



Series: Work and Play [10]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond is a little shit, Bond wears a chauffeur hat and Q can't handle it, Dom Q, M/M, Porn, Sub Bond, chauffeur kink, for the 007 Fest, smut happens in abundance, very light D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:08:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginte/pseuds/Beginte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He’s aware of James’ presence when he materialises by his side, every inch the discreet professional he’s actually supposed to be.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Q,” he announces himself in a velvety soft voice.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>He’s wearing the hat.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>He’s wearing the bloody hat. In MI6, in Q’s office, with an utterly and completely straight face - except for the eyes which gleam mischievously. So much for Q’s cock going back to behaving itself.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Smooth ride

**Author's Note:**

> Another contribution to the wonderful 007 Fest! It fills prompt number 21 on [this wonderful porn prompts list](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1jPw1F5m_1LzNDlcy11xEiP-8xRuYYUva3faMp8m_lFo/edit?pref=2&pli=1#gid=0).
> 
> I've never had this much trouble with porn before *glares at it* Still, enjoy some chauffeur kink fest! :D

* * *

Q isn’t entirely sure where Bond had got the hat. It’s possible it’s a makeshift prop he’d nicked to carry out an improvised plan, and now that he thinks about it, Q does recall R mentioning something about intercepting the mark by posing as a chauffeur.

It seems that Bond has decided to carry on wearing the chauffeur hat as some sort of a cheeky keepsake, or perhaps it still serves to blend him into the surroundings - it almost doesn’t matter. The horrible point is that when Q takes over as his handler for the next part of the mission, his cock twitches in a severely unprofessional threat of a boner.

The hat sits on Bond’s head with absolutely seamless professionalism, the brim dipped low and casting a slant of shadow over his eyes. The dark fabric and the shape are perfect, highlighting the sharp cut of his jawline and bringing out all the right angles of his face, and Q stares at the CCTV feeds blown up large on his screen.

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry but his mouth a little wet.

“007,” he says by way of greeting.

His voice is calm and collected, but something must give him away - or James is still wearing the hat on purpose, on some demonic hunch - because James looks into the nearest camera, eyes half-obscured by the hat, and _smirks_.

Q’s cock stirs again and he bites back a curse, because he _refuses_ to get a boner mid-work.

(And certainly not when James isn’t here to be dragged into Q’s office or the supplies cupboard for a quick shag.)

“Q,” Bond purrs back; his voice is professional on the surface but with just a hint of seductive subservience underneath, the way it sounds in bed sometimes, when he’s pliant and eager for Q’s orders but his eyes are still sharp and smouldering

Oh, the absolute fucking _cheek_.

“Eyes on the mark, Bond, you’re losing him,” Q says, scanning the feeds from the busy airport, and very forcefully _not_ ogling Bond in the fucking chauffeur hat.

“Oh, I always keep my eyes on the prize,” there’s a bloody _leer_ in his voice.

So the hat is definitely on purpose, then. Trust Bond to hit upon some kink Q wasn’t even aware of before.

“Good, so you shouldn’t have any trouble spotting that he’s handing the briefcase over,” Q comments dryly.

“I see it, I see it,” the playfulness ebbs from Bond’s voice for a moment as he moves to switch targets and keep the briefcase in sight.

Stalking through the airport in that damn chauffeur hat and a smart black pea coat, looking so sharp that one could growl just looking at him - Q can feel his engine revving quite without his permission. It’s most distracting.

Q remains staunchly professional while he guides Bond through the rest of the mission, and he refuses to rise to the bait as James parades around, shooting sultry smirks from under the hat and occasionally showing off his arse which looks exceptionally good under the cut of the pea coat.

Astoundingly, the mission is completed without a hitch - Bond manages to lift the briefcase, which is the main objective, and executes a very clean and discreet kill of the mark who had received it. Q then guides him out of the danger zone as the mark’s bodyguards are beginning to search for him.

“Very well, 007,” Q says, content with a mission well done - a unicorn, if there ever was one. “Now head for the other airport, please. You’ve a flight home booked in two hours, do try to get there on time. And _please_ don’t manage to lose the briefcase on your way back,” he adds, because these things have been known to happen, and more often than should be expected from highly trained professionals.

“Understood,” Bond drawls, already briskly walking towards the string of taxis waiting outside.

“I’ll see you when you get back. And Bond?”

“Yes?”

“Bring the hat,” Q instructs primly. He very much intends to teach James that there are consequences to his actions.

“Yes, Quartermaster,” James sounds like he can hardly wait.

* * *

Q spends the afternoon dealing with two other minor missions, doing some routine upkeep of the firewalls, ducking down into R&D for a while, and generally being determined not to lock himself in his office and have a wank there while playing the CCTV recordings of James in the bloody hat.

He has James’ tracker data running active, so his mobile emits a ping when James touches down on home soil. A while later, when he finally arrives at MI6, Q happens to be busy poring over a set of blueprints in an attempt to fit in improvements. His cock mercifully stopped being practically half-hard and he’s able to focus properly on work.

He’s aware of James’ presence when he materialises by his side, every inch the discreet professional he’s actually supposed to be.

“Q,” he announces himself in a velvety soft voice.

He’s wearing the hat.

He’s wearing _the bloody hat_. In MI6, in Q’s office, with an utterly and completely straight face - except for the eyes which gleam mischievously. So much for Q’s cock going back to behaving itself.

Q simply must retaliate to this.

“Did you bring the briefcase?”

“Left it with R, yes.”

“Did you bring your equipment back?”

“Mint condition.”

“Good,” Q picks up the car keys he may or may not have selected beforehand and brought here for this very purpose. “I’m finishing up here and you’re driving us home.”

James’ eyes glint under the hat.

“With pleasure, sir.”

James clearly decides to push his luck, playing the chauffeur part and escorting Q out of Q-Branch under the widened eyes of the minions who will doubtlessly gossip about this aspect of their boss' sex life for several days at least. When they reach the car, he opens the door for Q, assuming the ideal mannerisms of an actual chauffeur, and Q spends the entire drive home looking at his profile, the slight smirk on his lips and the hat on his head.

Q holds himself together rather admirably, but as soon as they’re in their flat and the door closes behind them, he grabs James by his ridiculously expensive silk tie and pulls him into a hard, urgent kiss. James goes along more than eagerly, his arms wrapping around Q and sliding instantly under his anorak, then slyly finding their way under his cardigan, and Q can feel their heat through the fabric of his shirt. James kisses him back with utterly happy abandon as Q has his way with him, and trust James Bond to somehow make his kisses feel _smug_.

“You cheeky, cheeky, _absolute_ shit,” Q growls out, smiling in between kisses, unable to stop the giddy tickle in his throat as he pulls James ever closer. “Showing up in my office in that fucking hat...”

“You did say to bring it back,” James points out, grinning, and Q eagerly kisses it off him.

“But not to wear it in the office. In front of the minions,” Q growls.

“They all know what happens when you tint the office windows, Q,” James smirks.

“ _Precisely_ ,” Q kisses him, hard, with a sharp nip on the lower lip which he then soothes with his tongue, taking great satisfaction in the way James melts just a little, moulding his body into Q’s almost seamlessly.

Rid of jackets and shoes - but the hat still very much present - they move along to the bedroom where Q indulges in some more snogging. James is an absolutely fantastic kisser, not only skilled but genuinely enamoured with the activity, and Q happens to be very good at it and fond of it too. Still, he was basically teased all day, and sooner rather than later he gets impatient, ending a very spectacular kiss, giving James one or two pecks on the lips as he pulls away.

He assumes a commanding look, one that has James all but purring in eagerness, and bites his lip not to grin too widely at the effect it has.

“Get your clothes off - keep the hat on,” he says.

James obeys, stepping back towards the bed, and reaching up to undo his tie. It slides out of its knot and off his collar with a swish of expensive silk, and James drops it onto the floor before starting on the buttons, eyes on Q, a slight smirk playing on his lips, the hat just barely askew on his head. The shirt slowly comes undone, showing a teasing sliver of tanned skin.

He’s not quite strip-teasing, but he flirts with it, smirking ever so slightly, looking into Q’s eyes and taking his time and letting the fabric whisper over his skin as he shrugs out of the shirt. The sleeves tug down, revealing his biceps, the muscles flexing as he gets the shirt all the way off, and Q licks his lips.

James is always a sight, naked or clothed, and Q leisurely admires his body as he stands completely unashamed of his nudity, weight shifted just a little bit onto one leg, muscled arms relaxed down his sides, cock half-hard, and the damn hat now downright obscene, contrasted with his nakedness.

Q has him wait there, taking time to undress himself, pleasantly aware of James’ eyes heatedly following every move, drinking in every bit of skin revealed as Q’s clothes fall off one by one. It warms Q’s blood and makes him feel pleasantly buzzed with being the object of James’ blatant and honest desire.

They tumble onto the bed, grinning and kissing and touching, letting the pleasure simmer higher and higher, exchanging occasional smirks and nips and pinches. James presses a trail of kisses along Q’s neck, teasing his sensitive spot, sucking a highly unprofessional mark into the skin, to which Q growls, lightly rakes his fingernails down James’ back, slides a hand down his chest, brushes over a nipple, doesn’t touch his cock, not yet. Instead, he runs his hands up and down James’ sides because he knows he likes it, and moves to cup that absolutely lush arse, squeezing the supple flesh and eliciting a rumbled moan. He mouths at the sharp line of James’ jaw which he admired earlier, brought out by the hat, and then sucks a kiss just below it into the skin of James’ neck where he smells of clean sweat and a hint of his fresh aftershave. When he pulls away, James smirks at how Q’s eyes again inevitably go to the hat.

“Fancy a ride, sir?” he drawls, words clipped into the most devastating professionalism.

“Oh god,” Q snorts, losing it, because this is entirely too much.

James’ grin is wolfish and erotic in the shadow of the hat’s brim. It sends a hot streak straight down to Q’s groin, and he leans in and bites James on the shoulder, growling out his besotted exasperation and arousal. James hisses, twitching just a little, and Q grins into the roundness of his shoulder, licking one more kiss onto it before pulling away and surveying James from his prim perch on his lap.

“Sit up,” he tells him, and James wriggles out from underneath him, moving to the middle of the bed. “Sit on your heels with your hands in your lap,” Q commands easily; James’ blue eyes flash eagerly as he obediently assumes the position. Q very nearly whimpers at the sight. “Don’t touch your cock and don’t move until I tell you to.”

“Yes, sir,” James whispers, a low, husky rasp, pupils wide and pushing the electric blue of his irises to the edges.

Q gives him an appraising look, sweeping his eyes over the muscled chest, straight torso, hands folded in his lap just in front of his hardened cock, thighs deliciously taut in this position, and nods curtly in approval. The miles of tanned skin presented so lovely on display make his mouth water with the desire to lick and kiss and taste, but he stops himself. There will be time for that.

Lube in hand, Q stands on spread knees on the mattress, holds James’ gaze. He allows a small smirk to touch his lips as he uncaps the bottle, eager anticipation skimming giddily along his spine, heartbeat quickening when he thinks of all the pleasure ahead. He gives his own cock a few strokes to take the edge off the ache and to wind himself up a little bit at the same time.

Q reaches behind himself, and James bites his lip, eyes sharp and burning, drinking him in. Q rubs gently, almost teasingly at his own entrance, breath catching when a bright spark of pleasure shoots through him. He breathes out a quiet moan as he massages the ring of muscle, urging it looser until one finger slips in, making his jaw go slack, eyes drooping half-closed. There’s a particular blend of blank mind and singular focus in doing this to oneself, and he enjoys it immensely. The fact that James’ breathing grows deeper and heavier makes it even better.

He opens himself up slowly and thoroughly, taking his time; one finger, then two and then three, hips moving involuntarily in a small rhythm, cock flushed and hard. He looks at James through his eyelashes - James is desperately still, eyes hooded under the damnable hat, hands in his lap where he was told to keep them. His lips have parted in his deeper breaths, and his cock is visibly aching, hard and beginning to glisten with pre-come leaking out. He does always get so deliciously wet, Q thinks on a half-breathed moan as he manages to find his own prostate.

James twitches, his breathing quickened for a revealing moment before he reverts to stillness. Q smirks at him and licks his lips perhaps a little bit obscenely. (Or a lot.) He watches James’ struggle to keep still, his muscles tense with the inexorable pull towards Q, and Q is a little bit heady with being the source of such pure, burning, desperate want. It makes his cock ache, pulling a whinge out of him; his fingers are no longer enough. He’s more than ready, he’s been ready for at least ten minutes, and now he’s simply burning for it.

With a quiet gasp, he pulls his fingers out and moves closer to James.

“Sit here,” he tells James who obeys, legs stretched out on the mattress _. “_ Good,” Q purrs. “Now, about that ride...” he smirks, and Bond snorts a little, but soon enough the desire wins over the amusement as Q kneels above James’ lap, biting his lip, stomach tight with eagerness.

He gets more lube on his hand and reaches down to stroke James’ cock, drawing a long moan out of him. He slicks it up slowly, purposeful, thumbing the foreskin down to let pre-come leak and dribble, and Christ there’s always so much of it. It’s perfect.

James’ breath catches in his chest on a groan as Q toys with the foreskin for a bit more. He’s gorgeous in his straining pleasure, fingers pressing into Q’s sides just above the hips, blunt fingernails digging in a little bit more, and oh yes, this is good.

One hand braced on James’ shoulder and pushing him back a little and the other taking hold of his cock, Q sinks down onto him, slow and drawn out, until his arse is pressed flush into James’ lap. He feels so _full_ and James is so deep inside him that for a moment he’s wonderfully breathless, his lungs struggling for capacity.

“Are you comfortable, sir?”

Q growls and kisses him for having such a cheek, a hand cupping the back of James’ neck and pulling him closer, both of them moaning as the movement causes James’ cock to shift inside of Q.

Ending the kiss, Q settles comfortably and begins rolling his hips in small, slow circles. It’s deeply thorough and makes him sigh with contentment, a purr stirring in his throat as pleasure singes and sparks across his skin. The airy, light feeling in his chest is a very lovely contrast with the sensation of being so utterly filled. Q’s cock, trapped between their bellies, is at last given some much-needed friction, and Q ruts shamelessly into it for a moment, because what are chauffeurs for.

James gasps and smiles, running his hands up and down Q’s back before settling on his hips, following the idle movements. He clearly wants more, but he’s behaving himself, not urging Q’s hips into quicker motions, and Q rewards him by squeezing tight around him. James gasps again, blunt fingernails digging into the flesh on Q’s hips, and that’s the last straw that pushes Q to quit teasing them both and move things along.

He stills his hips, gathering his words while his cock pulses, aching for more. James is also wrecked with impatience, but he still manages to curl his lips into the slightest smirk.

“Yes, sir?” he asks, so smooth and so cheeky, and Q has half a mind to snog the life out of him for this impertinence.

He manages to stop himself and tries to look aloof, though he's not sure just how much he succeeds with James’ cock up his arse, his cheeks flushed and eyes doubtlessly drugged with the half-paused pleasure.

“Lie back,” he instructs, proud of getting his voice to sound imperious - or at least passably so. “But be careful - if you jostle me, you don’t get to come.”

James grins.

“Yes, sir,” he actually has the audacity to touch his hat subserviently but with such damn nonchalance that Q very nearly lunges down to pin him down and ride him into oblivion.

James lies back, the movement smooth despite being unhurried, muscles contracting and shifting under the golden-tanned skin. He sinks against the mattress once he’s laid out flat on it, and he runs his hands up Q’s thighs, scorching pleasure into his skin, humming, the hat tipped up to cover his eyes almost completely. Q wants to have him in every way imaginable.

He straddles James properly, and the change of angle draws a moan out of him, so very promising and right. As always, James feels ludicrously good inside him, and Q spreads his knees wide, braces them on the mattress, lingering still for a moment as he concentrates. Then, he moves his hips in a sinuous, complex movement, a fluid snap that proves just how limber he can be.

James groans, pants, grasps more greedily at Q’s thighs, at his hips, further to cup Q’s arse. Q allows this small insubordination, because fingertips press just above his arsehole, creating a small point of wonderful pressure that somehow enhances the sensations inside him.

He sets about riding James in earnest, but takes care to grind his hips all the way down each time, moaning as he feels the head of James’ cock slide in and drag over his prostate. His own cock is leaking pre-come, painfully hard at this point, and he catches James’ eyes.

“Touch me,” he tells him.

One hand leaves his arse, a calloused palm wrapping around the sensitive flesh, and the mix of roughness and slick is perfect, causing him to gasp and lose his rhythm for a moment. James strokes him expertly, just enough to bring him one step closer to the edge and just enough to keep him there. A stroke, a twist, thumb rubbing over the slit, and _just_ the slightest bit incompatible with Q’s own rhythm to occasionally push him into stuttering indecision and coax out small, soft sounds.

It all feels spectacularly good.

He pauses, adjusting his glasses because he knows it makes James crazy, and reaches behind to slap James’ thigh.

“Well, put your back into it,” he demands, and James _growls_ , eyes suddenly ablaze.

“With pleasure, _sir_.”

He draws his knees up, planting his feet on the mattress to give himself support and leverage, but then he pauses, still stroking Q’s cock, thumbing maddeningly at the slit.

“Permission to _jostle_ you, sir.

“Oh, _fuck you_ , you smug prick! Granted.”

James grins and begins pistoning his hips up, thrusting deep into Q with each move, and Q _moans_. He allows his head to tilt back, mouth falling open in pleasure, and he resumes rolling his hips to match James’ thrusts wantonly.

“Oh, fuck, yes, that’s it... Ah...! _Right there_!”

“Oh, Christ, Q...” James groans, the rough want in his voice sending a thrum through Q’s veins.

“That’s... ah! That’s _sir_ , to you...” he pants out and clenches tightly around James in punishment.

“Oh, _fuck_...!” James scrambles not to come, letting go of Q’s cock and grabbing at his hips, fingers digging in.

They settle back into a rhythm, Q shifting forward to brace his forearms on both sides of James’ head, the angle causing James’ cock to hit his prostate on every single thrust, and oh, yes, this is frankly glorious. This position is closer, more intimate, the heat of their bodies trapped between them, all the world around them disappearing as Q holds James’ gaze, watches his eyes become somehow so very open and vulnerable, latched onto Q’s. He can read the need on James’ face, and he smiles gently before he dips down to oblige.

James likes plenty of kissing during sex (he’s especially needy for it when he’s the one bottoming, but he always enjoys it). It’s a trait that surprised Q when it presented itself, but the surprise was oh so pleasant. Now, as always, Q happily gives James what he wants, their kisses growing sloppy as pleasure builds unbearably. It’s the closeness and the intimacy that seems to truly start undoing James, his breaths growing quicker and his thrusts more urgent.

“I’m close... I’m close,” he pants, clearly trying to hold his orgasm back, but Q is having none of it.

He smiles, perhaps a little wickedly, and kisses James deeply and sweetly, just the way he likes best, and then squeezes tightly around him.

“Come for me, James.”

It doesn’t take long after that. A few more thrusts and James comes, gasping, cock pulsing inside Q, fingers digging into Q’s thigh. Q watches him, drunk on the view of James coming undone, before James promptly jerks him off into an orgasm of his own.

Afterwards, they lie together, panting, happily lingering in the orgasmic high, and Q is very close to embarrassingly purring like a cat.

“So good,” he breathes, half-coherent with the overwhelming, drowsy buzz of endorphins, and he pets James’ shoulders, his sides, lavishes him with pure affection. “You did so good, love...”

James doesn’t say anything, only pulls him in for a kiss that is sweet and sticky and perfect. Q would be perfectly content to stay in bed and drift off, but his sense of duty manages to win over, and he makes a jelly-legged trip to the bathroom to fetch a wet cloth and clean them both up at least cursorily.

“Mmm,” James says when Q rejoins him in bed, sliding into his arms and finally allowing his body to go completely, blissfully lax.

James traces idle patterns on the skin of Q’s back and presses his lips to Q’s temple, not even a proper kiss or a peck, just an affectionate touch, too worn out with pleasure for much more. Q takes immense pride in putting James in this state. He mouths a half-kiss to the patch of James’ chest closest to his lips.

“Was the service to your satisfaction, _sir?”_ James drawls, and Q snorts a little.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” he drawls right back.

James grins and rolls on top of him in a surge of playfulness, the hat finally falling off his head as he does, and Q hums into another kiss, running a hand through the short blond hair, and then at last begins to drift off.

(He keeps the hat. James is insufferably smug about it.)

**Author's Note:**

> *flops* I made it! The last Porn Post Saturday of the 007 Fest and I made it! *celebrates*


End file.
